Bike Trip to Lake Mills, WI

Several miles and many acquaintances later, we made it. The truth is that it could not have been done without the invaluable help of all the people I met. My trip acquaintances started off with a friendly old man at Macktown Forest Preserve who assured me that there was no way across the Rock river within the park, since I had intended to bike the path that went through the heart of the green golf-course. I thanked him for his offer to tour the old buildings set back from the golf course and carried on to the bridge under construction and Rockton, IL beyond. The edge of town brought the Dollar Store and a somewhat delayed purchase of a new journal and the road to South Beloit, IL, which was again a positive experience.

St. Peter's Church left two doors open, so I walked in one and had the experience that God was calling me there. I felt extremely at peace in the church that I would not hesitate to call a chapel due to its small size. Kneeling on the marble and contemplating Jesus brutalized on the crucifix before me I realized that many of the actions I have taken in my life only served to deepen the wounds of Christ. From one to whom He has given so much, He has also taken a lot of grief. But I am learning and I look forward to what the future will hold. With a few minor changes all will be most well, and I can move on to the next of my ex-ventures.

I think the ride today really helped open my mind back up to the possibilities and my mind goes wild! I thought of Colorado and my friend's graduation, and biking and skiing out there; buying a house with a lot of land, which always increases in value, and mowing it to my heart's content; shooting at a range and learning to rope and ride like a cowboy. Biking cross-country or cross-world. All things are possible with God!

On to more acquaintances, there were the two men who used to play hooky at the high school overlooking the river in Beloit, WI and now go fishing in the pond on the other side. The rest of the beautiful river walk in Beloit and Highway 51, which took me to the gas station where a boy gave me garbage-bag to protect my pack from the rain that really never came. Oh well...

Then there was Philhower Road and the shooting range. Then peaceful Read Road lead me into Janesville. The entrance was a bit confusing as Read Road turned into Sharon Road and made all sorts of twists and turns past abandoned semi's and factories and old, seemingly inhabited houses with no one around. Then came Palmer Road and the beauty of the Janesville golf course, the park, the wading pool, and concession stand. It was here that I stopped and lunched on trail mix and water, and instead of journaling spoke with Paul and Kelly. Paul gave me all sorts of ideas for authors to read and TV shows to watch to catch up on people who have done amazing things around the globe. I look forward to trying them all. Next came Bobby’s generosity with a bit of concession stand tap water and onward.

Palmer led to Wright Rd. and the “Ice Age” bike trail. Being an aficionado of woolly mammoths I indulged and ended up lost north of Highway 14. Thanks to what was apparently a college girl taking her mother on a bike ride, I regained my bearings and promptly threw them away as I did not want to backtrack. This led to a portage of what under rainy conditions would have been very muddy land, but the rain did not start until I reached Town Line Rd. and headed north. I rode north for a while, enjoying the solitude and bucolic landscape, that is until I heard the voices. Since I was lost, as I usually am when I hear the voices, I decided to stop and ask for directions. As it turned out the neighbor Gary was as good at picking up sticks near the front of a vast property belonging to the “K” family, as Mrs. “K” was at her directions. She and Gary traded off directing me to the bikepath that parallels Highway 26, as the daughter continued staring bewildered at me. I was off. Neither she nor their golden lab ever said a word.

Subsequent events lengthened my journey for quite a bit as I went west in trying to avoid riding on the shoulder of Highway 26. I took the highway as far as Milton and then got the bright idea that I could catch the bike trail that runs along Lake Koshkonong, even farther west as had been indicated on the Wisconsin county bike trail map. I never made it to find out, but Highway 59 led to John Paul Rd. (it’s good to be Catholic!) and then on to the “Rustic Rd.” It had no other name, nor did the man pursuing his boxer in a BMW call it by anything other than “that road” in his recommendation to follow it. Rustic Rd. was scenic, and alongside of which I caught inspiration to someday purchase a large expanse of property with a small house, that I could mow and fix up to my heart’s content, and then someday sell for profit. Down the road I frightened some horses as I pedaled by, apparently they don’t see too many bikers. Rustic Rd. led to County Highway N and a phone call from a friend. By the time I took it I was on the corner of Highway 26 again, having accepted the fact that I would have to ride the busy highway after all.

Not too far along however the bike trail head appeared, and about a mile down it I took the second and final call of the day from my father. Dinner, he said, but as I did not plan to reach my destination for another two hours, I put the though of food out of my head. It should be here noted that the last time I attempted a no-handed, helmet-less phone call on this very bike, I ended up over the handlebars in a heap as my co-worker pulled up behind me and began the gentle jabbing that I did not hear the end of for the rest of the summer. Adequately prepared as I was, I took both calls flat-footed, with bike helmet secured and kickstand down. I was not taking any chances.

The trail was fun and later paved, and so all was good until it went in the wrong direction. As I headed south I contemplated how I would scale the six-foot-high, barbed-wire-topped fence, and the fact that it was probably there for a reason. Eventually the trail turned the right way and Nate the biker-pro informed that it would reach Fort Atkinson. He also had some suggestions for a scenic route to Lake Mills, but as I eased my bruised caboose onto the seat that was probably manufactured in some quarry somewhere, I decided that I would probably take the shortest route up Highway 89 N, though perhaps I was wrong again as this route took me a significant distance west. The first wrong decision came as I debated taking Nate’s route and then at the last second got back on what I thought was Highway 89. It was, but I had to stop about a mile down the road, eat some trail mix, and then backtrack to town to confirm that it was.

The pain by this time was acute, and the route, uphill. However with a few Hail Mary’s and a couple of Our Father’s, I rolled into Lake Mills at 19:45, exactly eight hours from the time I pulled out of my alley in Rockford, IL. And on the note of Rockford, my thanks are due to the man at Park Rentals (so I should say Loves Park) for the allan wrench that hoisted my sidebars, which I intended to rest on, but only succeeded in providing poor steering ability and an awkward riding position. I remain grateful however, because at the end I made it and my mother and brother Daniel were good enough to pick up yogurt and fruit, and this mixed with granola hit the spot. The night was spent in good conversation, over the phone with a couple of friends, and otherwise with my aunt and my family. It’s good to be back in Lake Mills! Oh and Mike thanks for the honey whiskey, it made a great nightcap. Mass at 8am so I am off to sleep. Sweet dreams and may the Lord protect and keep you all! HIAL ITIY

A couple of notes: this time I used spell-check so I hope that the grammar and spelling is a bit better as this is one of my longer posts; photos are to come in installment two including the bike ride home to Rockford. This one should be more reflective on the experience as opposed to so focused on the individual experiences. Cheers!